Page 4 of Ends of Being

Challenge fucking accepted.

Chapter Two

Toni

Eversincemyrun-inwith Dare earlier in the day, I’ve had this deep sense of unease. It’s like I’m missing some vital tidbit that is crucial to my health and well-being. Like I can feel eyes on me at every turn, and I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting someone to jump out at me.

I know this is completely ridiculous; however, it doesn’t stop me from checking all the stalls in the ladies’ room when I enter. Nor does it prevent me from changing my stilettos for running shoes before leaving the office and heading to the parking garage. I have headphones in my ears, but no sound coming out of them, so I can be alert without anyone thinking I am.

I’m not normally this paranoid. Sure, I have a somewhat healthy sense of self-preservation—I always carry pepper spray in my purse and walk with my car key sticking out between my fingers. I always check under my car and in the backseat before getting behind the wheel. For fuck’s sake, I even have a Louisville Slugger on my backseat, just in case I need to smash some shit on my commute.

I’m also pretty fit, thanks to consistent weight-lifting and my own unexplainable need to know how to throw down in a crisis. I may not win in a contest of brute strength, but I will definitely get a few pieces of them before they take me down and leave me in a ditch somewhere for being a mouthy bitch.

What I don’t have is the ability to stop my intense level of excitement when the soft footfalls steadily gain on me as I make my way to my car. I even adjust my pace a couple of times to see if they do the same, and when they do, my little heart almost jumps right out of my chest in anticipation.

All that being what it is, I’m also not an intelligent person when it comes to fight or flight. As in, I have no flight at all. If I see an obvious red-flag situation a mile down the road, I’m definitely going to continue towards it rather than take any number of possible safer detours along the way. Basically, I totally deserve to be that dead bitch in a ditch, but even knowing this, I can’t stop my forward trajectory into possible unnecessary danger.

So instead of hurrying directly to my car, jumping into the driver’s seat, and locking my doors, I take the long way and meander a few extra laps just to see what my potential assailant will do. And also to confirm in my ridiculous mind that someone is indeed intentionally following me because, honestly, why would anyone peg me as an easy target?

Dare

Antoinette has been acting strange all day, almost as if she can sense chaos on the horizon. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder, playing with the pepper spray she keeps in her purse, and adjusting her car key between her fingers. She even changed her goddamn shoes. I can almost see her envisioning her beloved Louisville Slugger that is a constant companion in the backseat of her car.

As if any of these precautions will protect her from the beast when he comes for her.

Now, we’re in the parking garage, waiting patiently for her to approach her vehicle so we can pounce, but she’s taking her sweet-ass time walking to her car. She’s lapped the place a few times as though she couldn’t remember where she parked, and a few more times, she even stopped in her tracks and glanced around in complete puzzlement.

Because the fucking bitch is playing with me.

I growl deep in my chest, settling back into the shadows to wait for her to stop being a pain in my ass and complete the journey to her car. I should’ve known she would do this, that something as simple as accosting her in a parking garage would go awry due to her incredible ability to fuck with me without even trying. She’s naturally infuriating, and I can’t wait to break her down and bend her to my will.

Oh, here she comes now, strutting towards her car as if aggravated that all her pissing about had zero results. I swear on all that is holy, if she detours one more fucking time, I’m going to change tactics and charge her like the raging bull I currently am.

She continues towards her car, her quick pace more determined than before, and I slowly ease myself out of the shadows and closer to my desired target.

That’s right, come to me, baby girl…

Toni

Fucking hell, that was a complete waste of time and energy.

All of my excitement about my potential accosting has left me, and I’m now stomping toward my car, completely annoyed I let my overactive imagination get the better of me. As if anyone would ever attempt to steal me out of a dark parking garage in the first place. There’s no way a criminal mastermind would ever stick around to watch their potential victim wander aimlessly in search of a car that is literally right under their nose.

I roll my eyes at my own idiocy, huffing more expletives as I go over all the reasons no one would attempt to kidnap me, even if they thought I looked like an easy prey.

I’m almost at my car when I notice movement in the shadows, and the subtle scrape of shoes on cement. My heart rate picks up again, my feet automatically picking up pace a bit as I draw closer to my intended location—the back driver’s side door—and my trusty Louisville. I was excited in a morbidly fun way before, but now, I’m excited in a pissed-off and ready-to-smash-shit way.

I rush the final steps to my car, my hand reaching for the door handle when I’m suddenly shoved from behind. I attempt to push back, to force some leverage so I can maneuver into an offensive position, but I find myself unable to move with my face pressed against the cold glass of the car window.

My pulse is racing wildly, and I’m gasping for air. This is not a scenario I ever envisioned, being trapped and entirely incapable of fighting back. I attempt to struggle a bit and then freeze as a hard body presses fully against me, a strong hand flexing at my throat, and hot breath tickling my ear.

I hear it then, the deeply sinister chuckle that sends vibrations down my spine. The hand at my neck squeezes tighter, the hard body pushes in more forcefully, and then an eerily familiar voice washes over me.

“Mm…there’s my baby girl,” the voice whispers against my ear. “Let’s see how much of a bad boy you can handle.”

I freeze, my eyes widening in recognition.What the actual fuck?

I go to shout, to kick back and scream my bloody head off, but the hand at my throat tightens further, cutting off my voice and pulling my upper body back fully against his. His other hand comes up to my mouth, his thumb and index finger pinching my nose as his palm presses against my lips, cutting off my air completely. I try to rear back, to pull my face away from his pressing hand, to allow myself to breathe. But it’s too little, too late, and the world goes black.

---